Stay With Me
by dragoon811
Summary: Trying to gather evidence and arrest a dark wizard, two Aurors realise they both feel the same. Written for the 2014 hp-silencio on livejournal.


**Author's Note**: Many thanks to jamies_lady and stgulik for all of their amazing alpha & beta work, and thanks as always to my lovely cheerleaders. What would I do without you wonderful people?!  
>The prompt was: "Characters A and B are Auror partners and have tracked a dangerous dark wizard to his lair. They're hiding, trying to gather more evidence. If they speak, the dark wizard will hear them. But they also have a problem: they're attracted to each other." from lrthunder.<br>As always, Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please enjoy my first-ever Drarry. Eep. ^^.;

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><p>The night was, thankfully, warm. No owls ghosted overhead in the humid air, and the sky was cloudless. Both Aurors could see clearly without the need of the night-vision spell, which caused terrible headaches with prolonged use; Harry was still so very done with headaches. The scent of rotting wood and night-blooming herbs clogged his nose, but it was better than the last covert mission he'd been on, the one with the sewers, so he didn't mind <em>that<em>.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Oh, sure, the skulking about in the dark, leaning against the side of the dangerously dilapidated building and striving to keep themselves silent while in the pursuit if a highly dangerous criminal was supposed to be like this — but the choice of partner wasn't.

Wondering just _why_ he was still an Auror despite the past nine years trying its best to beat his Gryffindor need to save everyone out of him, Harry cautiously shifted his trainers on the slippery, mouldy rock and trying to move silently closer to the window without looking like a pillock.

Damn, it this would have been so much easier if Severus had been his partner, like he was bloody well supposed to, since the man was the foremost authority on spying and Dark magic. But his wife was in labour and Harry didn't want to face Hermione Granger-Snape after trying to keep her husband away. Some things just weren't done.

No, instead, he had he next best person, the reason he was still an Auror despite the Quidditch offers and rather plush Gringotts account and the fall out with Ron when he broke up with Ginny — Draco Malfoy.

The blond beside him was part of the elite team Harry had set up a few years ago, made up of Aurors who had cross-trained with St. Mungo's to be a sort of front-line Healers, after one too many close calls in getting people to help in time. When Harry had put in the request for someone for tonight, knowing it was dangerous and they'd be dealing with Dark magic, he hadn't thought to add a preference for partner, and was more than a little surprised to see the immaculately-dressed blond awaiting him at the Leaky.

And Harry did mean immaculate. There was not a speck of dust on the neat black suit or the grey tie that perfectly matched those icy eyes. The other wizard's shoes didn't even have a scuff on the dark leather. As always, Draco Malfoy dressed to impress and Harry had had a hard time keeping his expression stern as he'd ordered him to change into something more appropriate. And to wash off the cologne that made Harry's heart race.

His breath hissed through his teeth as he nearly slipped, and Harry shook himself, nearly sending his glasses flying in the process. Luckily, Hermione had shown him a charm to prevent that long ago, and they stayed stubbornly in place. Harry caught Draco's attention, motioning that the spot was slippery, and Draco nodded his understanding.

By time Harry had situated himself just so under the broken window so they could eavesdrop, narrowly avoiding some rather poky bits, he'd managed to halfway tamp down his fascination with the not-quite-his-friend. Merlin, how he wanted it to be more.

Draco slid along next to him, and slipped. Wide grey eyes met his and Harry grasped the man's wrist to keep him from sliding down the muddy incline and making far too much noise. Draco's pulse thudded under his fingertips as they re-situated themselves on the precarious little stone ledge. Was it his imagination, or did it speed up? He wanted desperately to believe it was real, but at the same time, wouldn't he look a prat, asking about it?

The last time Harry had mentioned Draco's rather widened pupils at a particularly dreary lunch meeting, he'd been smartly told that eyes did that in the dark.

Bugger all. Reluctantly, he let the firm, fine-boned wrist drop before trying to get a better listen on the chatter between Bob Pinkpenny — ridiculous name for the wizard assumed responsible for twenty-three attacks in as many days — and the Knockturn Alley-based supplier (and MLE tipster) he was meeting.

Next to him, Draco gasped, his features becoming more pinched than normal. Harry jerked his head towards him, concerned, but the blond pinched his lips together, the pale pink becoming white and bloodless. Slowly, Harry watched as Draco pulled his arm away from the side of the house, revealing he'd managed to impale himself on a cluster of long, thick, badly-rusted nails. Draco's sleeve gleamed wetly in the starlight, but he didn't lift his wand to fix it. Too much risk, Harry guessed, impressed how he'd managed to stay quiet despite what he was certain was a great deal of pain.

Harry's legs burned as he remained crouched, listening to the two men. They couldn't arrest anyone until they'd heard enough 'proof'. Bloody paperwork. Things were so much simpler during the war — Death Eater bad, hex first, ask later. He should really just quit being an Auror and do something different.

Visions of himself entwined on a sunny, sandy beach with the man next to him flitted through his brain and Harry straightened his shoulders painfully. A field mouse wandered over their toes and he ignored it.

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><p>Draco breathed in shallowly through the nose and out his mouth, part of an Occlumency ritual his god-father had taught him, in an attempt to quell the pain radiating from his arm. That had been stupid of him, not to notice the metal jutting out of the wall, just because he'd been too preoccupied with the warmth of Harry next to him, with the way his jaw curved just so, with just enough stubble to send his father into conniptions about how a <em>proper<em> man dressed himself.

Then again, Lucius Malfoy wasn't likely to be pleased with Draco's current ensemble, either, given that it wasn't fashionable or well-tailored and meant simply to provide the best cover for someone of his colouring in the night.

And slipping? On such a simple mission? If he kept being clumsy in front of Potter, he was liable to be written up by the department head and sent to remedial training, which was the absolute last thing he wanted. Well, unless you counted Potter finding out just how much Draco enjoyed being his partner on cases. Working with him. Watching him at the office during training courses... Though he was no longer wiry, all those Seeker muscles still made Harry Potter a lean figure, well worth watching. Even better, the wizard seemed to prefer fitted Muggle clothing over robes or neat suits.

Draco exhaled another shaky breath, chagrined at how his thoughts were running away with him. He hadn't wanted to come tonight. He'd wanted it to be Paige, but she'd had a date and had stuck him with Potter, the Boy-Who-Made-It-Impossible-To-Concentrate and left Draco picking fights every time they met.

It didn't help that Potter — calling him Harry seemed too forward — was not only good-looking but friendly and affable. Except to Draco, of course.

He nearly slipped again and cursed under his breath. Wearing the Italian leather shoes just to irk Boy Wonder had been a horrible idea. He knew he should have sprung for the Turkish dragonhide boots he'd seen in last season's _Fashionable Wizard_ catalog. Worse, Harry had made him wash off the cologne he'd just put on in case someone was able to pick out the fragrance on the wind. And here Draco had thought Potter _liked_ that scent. Last time he'd worn it he could have sworn that messy black head and whipped around. Or maybe he'd imagined the flared nostrils, the way those green eyes had widened and gone glassy behind the round frames.

Merlin, but it was hard to concentrate. Oh, he could forget about the pain in his arm, the pull of his ankle, but he couldn't forget those slightly calloused fingertips around his wrist, brushing over the veins there.

Harry shifted slightly, looking at him, and Draco almost gave in then and there. He caught himself from leaning forward and sat back with a quiet huff. It was a good thing Severus hadn't come along after all, or he'd send them back to remedial stealth training. The first rule that he'd drilled into their heads was not to move. Any movement, and you alerted the target. Additional movement would just confirm that they'd seen something. Remaining motionless was the best way to go undetected. (Certainly explained how well Snape had snuck up on his students.) Then again, stealth classes with Potter?

Almost worth it.

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><p>Grey eyes refused to meet his, and Harry listened to Pinkpenny haggle with the dealer, trying to make sense of what had just happened. No, it wasn't the blatterwort trade — easy stuff to get, maybe it was code — but he was almost <em>certain<em> that Draco had almost kissed him. His lips tingled at the thought.

Draco poked his arm, and Harry nodded: Pinkpenny'd just mentioned water salamander scales and dragon's blood. Incendiary alone, dangerous together. Outside of water — and only water — those scales were worse than a lit, unattended Weasley Wheezes fireworks in a dynamite warehouse. And dragons blood tended to be corrosive when mixed with — there it was! Harry didn't need Draco's firm hand clutching his elbow to tell him they'd just closed the case. He'd just arranged for delivery of a whole crate of giant hogweed.

Exactly what had been used in all of the bombings, right down to the ratios Pinkpenny had just ordered.

Gesturing, Harry worked himself to a crouch, ready to burst into the room. A good Shield charm would protect him from the remnants of the broken window. A glance confirmed that Draco was gripping his wand, fingers caressing the wood... Harry shivered. He had to focus.

He was tense as they listened to Pinkpenny dismiss the seller, who Apparated away with a sharp pop. Then to their surprise, in true megalomaniac fashion, the moron started to actually gloat to himself. Out loud.

Perfect.

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><p>Harry burst through the window and Draco followed that nicely-proportioned arse, wand at the ready. Pinkpenny was a ruddy man, wearing a hideously-coloured set of ill-fitting robes that clung unforgivingly to the rolls of fat and clashed with the messy red neckbeard that would likely send Father into apoplexy. In short, he didn't <em>look<em> much like the feared bomber or wielder of the dark arts he was purported to be, but he was casting spell after spell at the duo with surprising ease.

Catching Harry's eye, Draco and he split apart, making it harder for Pinkpenny to maintain his shield. Draco managed to bind one of the man's arms, and he whirled around, rage in his beady little eyes. Harry shouted something and darted past Pinkpenny as the man snarled a curse Draco didn't know, tackling him to the ground.

Rolling away from Harry, Draco managed to Petrify the man, adding a Stunner on top of , Draco sat on the grimy floor and looked over at his partner.

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><p>Harry lay gasping on the rotted floorboards, his ears ringing as he heard Draco bring down Pinkpenny. His partner was safe. Good. He winced; everything hurt. His chest felt tight and strangely numb. He raised a hand, wondering why it felt like moving through mud, and pressed it to his chest, trying to cough. Something bubbled from between his lips, and his fingers were damp, sticky even. Breathing shallowly, Harry tried to raise his head to look through his shattered glasses and dropped it back with a groan.<p>

His heart pounding, he fought to remain calm. The fact that it hurt but wasn't actually painful yet was enough to tell him it was serious. The thought made him start to panic. He didn't want to die, and he certainly didn't want to die like _this_. He hadn't even managed to tell Draco how he felt, and now he was going to die because he had played hero again. Really, he should have learned. Snape was going to bring him back from the dead and kill him himself for it. Hermione would probably help him, too.

Distantly, he could hear Draco talking to him. To him? At him, maybe. He was begging, it sounded like. There was singing, a warmth burning in his chest and he choked on his blood. Whatever Draco was doing wasn't helping. The blond must have realised it, because now there was pressure on his chest and he was trying more spells.

Harry's vision went blurry at the pain of it and he gasped. He would have arched but Draco was holding him down, chanting something that sounded vaguely Greek. Harry imagined Draco's pale hands red with blood and it hurt.

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><p>Panicking, Draco kept chanting. Harry's eyes, clearer than ever without the lenses of his glasses, were unfocused. Blood mixed with saliva was running down his chin with each raspy exhale, and all Draco could think was that he couldn't die, not now.<p>

He mentally promised Merlin and any fickle god who could be listening that if Harry lived, he'd risk ridicule and tell him he loved him, and between spells he begged him to stay in a voice he hadn't spoken with since the war. That high-with-fear timbre he'd happily pushed to the back of his mind was what came out of his mouth, telling Harry to stay, not to leave him, as he pressed on the ruin of his thin chest.

Slowly, the skin began to knit together, but Harry wasn't fighting any more — he looked pale with all of the red around his mouth and that dark messy hair held to his brow with sweat, but he was just _lying_ there. Tears clogged Draco's throat as he tried to keep him with him. Risking stopping the pressure, he lifted one hand and brushed it over his cheek.

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><p>Floating above the pain, Harry felt something touch his face and he jerked slightly before turning to the right to see Draco. It wasn't right, seeing those pointed features lined with panic and worry... and something more. Harry forced himself to feel the pain again, sinking deep and heavy into his bones and managed to raise a shaky hand to touch Draco's fingers. He held it there, held that grey gaze as the expression went from fear to something warm and relieved.<p>

That little possibility of hope, of something more, made him hold more tightly to the long-fingered hand on his cheek. He could do this, he could make it... Harry forced himself to breathe evenly, watching those thin lips continue to cast spells, Draco getting paler as he expended his own magic.

For him.

For Harry.

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><p>Draco sat back as he watched the Patronus hurry off, exhausted. It looked like the Boy-Who-Lived would live again. Honestly, it was like he was <em>trying<em> to get himself killed, pushing Draco out of the way like that. He blushed at the thought, idly stroking Harry's Scourgify'd cheek below the repaired glasses. Harry now — how could he call him 'Potter' when he'd saved Draco's life?

Harry turned to him, his scar standing out brilliantly against the paper white of his skin, but he beckoned him close with his left hand. Draco leaned forward, but Harry had no interest in whispering secrets to him. With a small smile, he threw his arm over Draco's neck. Weak as he was, it was surprise that allowed him to drag the blond down, and he pressed his lips to his before he could lose his courage.

Shocked, Draco didn't move, his eyes wide open and startled. He pulled back, cheeks hot, to see something in the emerald gaze and he smirked.

Bending down again, Draco proceeded to show Harry just how he liked to be kissed. They had plenty of time until support arrived, after all.

-fin-


End file.
